


silence the shouting

by Areiton



Series: Teen Wolf Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ball Gag, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Good Peter Hale, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Subspace, Teen Wolf Kink Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15602550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Sometimes, you need silence.Sometimes, your words run too fast, trip over themselves and panic claws at you, and you need silence.You need to bequiet.





	silence the shouting

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf Kink Bingo, square one: Ball Gags

You’re the loud one, the one who fills up silence, the one who breaks the tension with sarcasm and teasing, with jokes and pushing the packs two alphas away from each other, away from conflict with mocking and jokes. 

You’re the one with an answer, the one who talks the pack into and out of trouble, who lies to the cops and the hospitals and teachers and everyone else who thinks a leather clad bunch of teenagers showing up bloody in the middle of the night is weird. 

You’re known for it--and sometimes it works in your favor. Because when you talk, others listen. 

And when you talk, others  _ don’t  _ listen. 

And you’ve learned to make both of those situations work for you. 

But sometimes. 

Sometimes, you need silence. 

Sometimes, your words run too fast, trip over themselves and panic claws at you, and you  _ need _ silence. 

You need to be  _ quiet. _

You close your eyes, and let your head drop. The weight of your collar is comforting, and the pressure of being on your knees is familiar, but you never get tired of it. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, velvet smooth, sweet and mocking. “Tell me what you need.” 

You squeeze your eyes tighter, because you don’t  _ want  _ to, you  _ need _ silence, and you--

You can’t speak. 

You come here, to be taken care of and you  _ need _ this right now. 

“Ahh, I see. I see. Very well, darling.” You feel his fingers, soft against your throat, brushing just a little, before he moves away and you shiver, your eyes opening. 

Your hands are shaking but that tight knot of need and desperation is unraveling, and you can take a deep breath again. 

He noticed. 

Of course, he noticed. 

Peter always noticed you before the others. 

He was brilliant and amazing and annoying as hell, that way. You’d hate him, if you didn’t love him so much. 

The first time, it was after a fight, when you were running your mouth, shaking with adrenaline and fear, and he’d grabbed you by the back of your neck, shaking, and snarling at you for putting yourself in danger, and you knew he was  _ worried _ , but you were going pliant, almost limp in his arms, and you  _ knew _ you smelt of arousal, knew he could smell it--hell  _ you _ could almost smell it. 

“Aren’t you full of surprises, kitten,” he’d murmured and you mewled, helpless to swallow the noise. 

He released you and you went home, and sobbed your way through an orgasm, the ghostly sensation of his hand at your neck all it took to drive you over the edge. 

He’s coming back, his footsteps steady and comforting and you straighten, your eyes open now, and you track his movement, your heart pounding as you see it. 

There are three and this one--this is your favorite. He likes the plastic one with little holes, because you drool and it’s messy, but the tiny whimpers you make, with it--you shiver, and lick your lips, shifting for the first time since you hit your knees. 

“Eager tonight, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and you don’t answer, because he doesn’t want an answer, because you aren’t here to speak. 

You’re here to have everything go silent, for a little while. 

“Open for me, pet,” he murmurs and you obediently stretch your mouth open. The familiar weight of the ball gag rests on your tongue, and he makes an approving hum as he buckles the black leather into place. It’s snug, and you know--no matter how rough he is, it won’t move. 

You won’t speak. 

Your eyes drift closed and you can feel yourself floating. He is undressing you, the silence thick and warm, and you bask in it, want to wrap up in it like a warm blanket. 

When you’re naked and he stands before you in his tight jeans and v-neck and delicious bare feet, he leads you to the bedroom, one hand at the nape of your neck, the other on your bare waist, and you let yourself be led. 

Peter noticed first, and he never abused that. He kept his distance, but sometimes you would catch him watching you, his gaze heavy and hot, and you’d shiver, wondering what it would feel like, to be under his control. 

You broke on a ordinary day, when nothing was threatening to kill anyone, just the noise and pressure building under your skin until you were standing in front of Peter, and choking out, “You  _ know.”  _

He didn’t bother pretending, something you’ve always been grateful for, and it took him ordering you to eat, ordering you to shower and then holding you in his lap while you let your heartbeat slow, before you were able to put the thoughts in order. 

It was the start, and you still think it was the best thing you’ve ever done. 

“Darling, hold this for me,” he murmurs, pressing a red stress ball into your right hand. A green goes in your left, and he pauses. “Nod if you know what they’re for.” 

You nod and he hums, presses a kiss to your hair, before he positions you, cuffing your wrists to the bed and leaving your ankles free. You let your eyes close as he puts you on your knees, ass up and exposed for him, and then his fingers, wet and warm are sliding into you. 

You lose yourself a little as he opens you, the only noise in the room the sound of his fingers and the squelch of lube, the rustle of sheets. Then he pulls away and something thick and cool settles against your hole, pushes in, and you close your eyes, press back into the plug. 

It’s a wordless promise, and command--if you don’t come, he will fuck you, after. 

You’ve only ever come once, when he plugged you, and you regretted it for days. 

You feel him move away, and then the soft exhale. It’s the only warning you get, before the flogger comes down. 

You don’t count. 

You never count. 

It’s never mattered. 

Peter  _ knows _ you, knows what you need, because you told him, once. 

You’re the one who talks, the one who is always filling up the silences, the fucking voice of the pack. 

But you never scream. 

Not even when you’re taken, when you’re tortured, not even when Gerard’s men--you never scream. 

You start screaming, the noise trapped behind your gag, just the way you need, and you don’t know how many times he’s brought the flogger down on you, but you feel him hesitate, feel him falter, and you drop the green ball, press back and his hand caresses you briefly. 

The screams are trapped behind the ball gag, your eyes clenched shut and streaming tears, and you are safe. 

You are  _ safe _ , here in the silence and Peter’s care, safe in a way you so rarely find, and  _ free, free _ to be silent and free to scream. 

You can feel your orgasm gathering, your balls tightening as he brings the flogger down across your thighs, over your ass, kissing against your balls to make you jolt, and the plug vibrates to life, whisper quiet, and you  _ wail _ behind your gag, your eyes rolling up as you fight the urge to come, fight the insistent vibrations against your prostate and the burning pain in your ass and the net of safety that holds you still because here--

Here you don’t need to speak, and even when you don’t, Peter hears you. 

The flogger jolts against the plug and you feel the world dropping away, drifting as you stop screaming, as you go limp against the sheets. You can feel the silence pressing against you, and the flogger, coming down, but it’s  _ distant _ , far away and this--this sweet space that only Peter can send you to--it eats up your whole mind, makes you smile around your gag. 

You don’t know how long you drift in that addicting unmoored place, but you come down slow, to the delicious sensation of Peter fucking you, the burn of his jeans against your raw ass, the press of lips against your shoulder and a hand at the nape of your neck and the almost desperate thrust of his cock. You shudder and push back into it and he whines, a noise he cuts off almost immediately, latching onto your shoulder as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. He’s pushing you into the sheets, and it’s all too much, the heavy weight of him, the burn in your ass and thighs, the thick pressure of him fucking against your prostate, and the blanket of silence, the slick weight of your ball gag on your tongue. 

You shudder and come, so hard your vision blurs and teeth--blunt, human--dig into your shoulder, muffling his groan as he comes, thrusting hard as his knot catches and swells, making you shriek against your gag and come again. 

He doesn’t laugh, but the smile he presses into your shoulder makes you want to smack him. 

Peter twists you to your sides, after, cuddling against your back in the silence while his knot slowly comes down. You breath, and press back against him, your eyes dripping closed. 

It’s only when he’s removed your gag, and you take a gasping inhale--the first noise you’ve made since this started--that he speaks. 

“I love you, Stiles.” 

It shatters the silence you so desperately needed, the silence he always gives you when you need it. 

But you don’t mind. Your voice is rough and raw, but steady, “Love you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://areiton.tumblr.com/)


End file.
